


What It Means To Act Like A Lady

by jennserr



Series: The Misadventures of Avengers Initiates [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Black Widow - Freeform, Dancing, Hawkeye - Freeform, Lesbian Character, POV Lesbian Character, POV Transgender Character, Quinjet, Spies, Spy - Freeform, Spy training, The Hub - Freeform, Training, Undercover, Undercover As Prostitute, Undercover Missions, alternate POV, black widow's daughter, computer hacker, genetic experiments, transgender character, undercover training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:37:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4714589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennserr/pseuds/jennserr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valeriya Romanov is technically Black Widow's daughter, enhanced with a version of the Serum. Serra Barton is Hawkeye's extremely gay hacker niece.</p><p>Both are Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.</p><p>Both are teenagers.</p><p>What could possibly go wrong?</p><p>Join "Wild Card" and "Halo" as they travel the world on mission after mission, getting in and out of trouble as they do, and generally being the best teenage agents S.H.I.E.L.D. has ever seen. This time, they're going through five grueling weeks of training for their biggest mission yet, even though one of them isn't exactly cut out for field work. And dancing, no matter how fun it looks, is always harder in heels (at least for some people).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. POV - Valeriya

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, there is a perfectly logical explanation as to how Natasha Romanov has a biological daughter, but it will be explained in full sometime around the fifth or sixth 'chapter' in this saga.

“Being a field agent is hard,” Serra whined from across the table. She’d been in basic self-defense so far this morning, along with some other basic training. She was tired and no doubt had found a way to injure herself. “Why do I have to be on location doing all this secret spy stuff?”

“Because we’re the only agents who could actually get in without raising suspicion and you need to be on site to get the files.” I didn’t really pay her too much attention, it was lunch. Well, it was late lunch, because they’d held us longer than they were supposed to. I’d be getting weirder looks for the amount of food I’d collected if people had realized by now that if I didn’t get the food, I’d have a shorter temper than usual--the same serum that made me stronger and faster had also skyrocketed my metabolism. In short, the longer they had me practicing, the more food I’d require afterwards.

We had two weeks left until Fury wanted us ready to go. I was sure we could do that; five weeks was more than enough time for most operations.

I’d memorized the given list of high profile guests to keep an eye on during the event, the names and affiliations cycling through my head. Chief among the names were Ambassador Miguel Salvatore--the official target--and Anatoli Ivanovich Markov. Markov was the Bratva kingpin who was providing the escorts that I would be infiltrating. I’d spoken to him twice already and he made my skin crawl despite the nearly 5000 mile separation. He’d know nothing about me, and only a little about my cover.

Vasilisa Dmitrievna Alkaeva was a twenty three year old studying at MSU that had fallen into the shadow business of escorting to pay tuition. Her mother lived in Omsk, her father, a soldier, dead several years back. She was a dancer, which is why Fury had been running me ragged with all the dancing. I wasn’t bad, in fact I was repeatedly told how well I’d picked it up, but I’d prefer to just be hitting things.

Covert, I could do. Sexy and naive, I wasn’t so sure.

Serra groaned loudly, dropping her head to the table, ignoring her lunch. I was tempted to take some of it, but held off. “It could be better.”

“You mean if we weren’t the ones going on this mission?” She sat up, looking at me.

I swallowed the last of my sandwich. “No. I mean that we could have not even a full day to prepare. Remember Cairo? Yeah. So I’m glad we get this time. And when you think about it, five weeks is a long time.” I picked up another slice of grilled cheese. I’d have to remember to thank whoever was on kitchen duty for setting them out.

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“So do you always hate me then?” I couldn’t help the smirk.

Serra glared briefly, dropping her head back to the table. “Fuck off Romanov.”

I took a bite of my sandwich, glad to be out of heels for the time being. There was two weeks left. I could get through two more weeks.

 

* * *

 

Serra paced around the corridor in circles, checking her phone for the millionth time. “For god’s sake, Barton, that’s the tenth time this minute you’ve checked the schedule.” _It's not like it was going to change now_. “Yes, we have this lesson together, in the same room, probably with the same instructor.” I fought the urge to shake my head at her. “And yes, we’re learning some dance steps… Or something.” She shoved her phone back in her pocket and momentarily stopped moving.

“I know, I know, it’s just difficult to wrap my head around. We haven’t done anything together since the briefing, except for leisure activities.”

“When we had time for them,” I reminded her. I cracked my knuckles and leaned against the wall, one foot propped against it. It was only 0730 hours, not that I was really complaining since I’d been up for almost two hours already, but I wouldn’t have minded a later time for whatever dancing they’d have me doing today. I missed target practice and would have given just about anything to spend a few hours shooting with Natasha. Not that learning to seduce and entrap men wasn’t totally thrilling and everything, and I wasn’t about to disobey orders, but I don’t think I could ever do it for real if being an agent didn’t work out.

“Yeah,” she sighed and resumed her pacing. She was driving me crazy, why couldn’t she just sit still for two seconds?

“You sure you haven’t had any coffee this morning?”

“If I had, I’d be calmer.”

I pushed myself into standing as I heard the telltale clicking of heels coming towards us. Agent Wieber had finally arrived. It took a few more seconds before Serra could hear the footfalls.

Agent Wieber was nice enough, and had been incredibly pleased with my previous instructors and ability to pick up her new instruction. “Good morning ladies,” she greeted cheerily as ever. “I hope you both slept well.”

I stayed silent, small talk was still not my strong suit. This mission was working on that, theoretically, but most of what I’d be ‘saying’ wouldn’t be with words.

She unlocked the door with a swipe of her thumbprint and we followed her in. As I’d expected, the general purpose training room had been prepared for us to work on dance. Some poor agents had already set up the mat and rolled in the wall of mirrors, ballet bar and everything. That was all standard and familiar. What I hadn’t been expecting was the dresses.

They hung innocently on a rack that’d been wheeled in from Fury-knows-where. Serra’s was a deep green tinted turquoise with an empire waistline and gathered with gold threading along the neck. The Grecian style would suit her body type well, dignified enough for a diplomat’s teen daughter. The corseted lilac dress I would most likely be wearing was covered in silver embroidery leaves, the bottom flowing outwards. It looked light and sheer. I glared at it.

“I take it these will be our dresses for the mission.” I wasn’t asking. There was no point, there was only one reason we’d be getting something this high quality now. All the pieces of our training were coming together.

“Correct. And it’s about time you learned to dance in them,” Wieber answered immediately, unfazed by my dark look. Rather she was giving my partner a pointed look.

“Okay, just because I couldn’t-“

“Save your breath, Barton.” The woman smiled ever so slightly. “You’ll need it.” Serra was not pleased. She shoved her now blonde hair out of her face and hesitated before approaching the rack.

 

* * *

 

I hung my coat on the hanger my dress had previously occupied but left the rest of my now discarded clothing folded neatly in a pile on the ground. I slid my feet through the many straps on the alarmingly high heels they’d given me and rolled to standing. I didn’t trust the material to stay up if I had to do any real fighting--it’d been mere minutes and I missed my bra already--and made a mental note to hunt down and break the hands of whoever had been in charge of designing my dress. It was beautiful but I looked ridiculous. The boned top half was made of the same material as the sheer skirt, just covered in embroidered silver designs meant to look like rose petals that gave it a more finished look. The damn thing was so low I swear I’d fall out of it if I bent over, and the skirt trailed behind me just enough to make me think I’d trip while dancing.

I pushed the feeling of being underdressed out of my mind as I went to the bar for stretches. This was a mission, not a fashion show. Alkaeva would love the dress and that’s all I needed to remember. I propped my leg up on the bar and bent over it, forehead to knee.

I glanced to Serra, who’d been struggling with her dress. She appeared to be trapped within the material after having somehow shoved her thick skull through one of the straps of the sleeves. I switched legs and gave a small snort of amusement.

“How the fuck- how do I- someone help me out?” Yup, she was tangled. The dress she’d been given had some fancy straps in the back but nothing that should have her head at that awkward of an angle. Wieber and I shared a look before our instructor moved to help untangle my partner. “See, this is what happens when I try to girl.” Inability to put on a fancy dress aside, she’d come a long way since the first time we met.

I switched legs again as Serra was finally freed from her fabric prison. “Um, does whoever made this realize I’m like a B cup?” I thought they’d taken our measurements first? They’d have to tailor it soon, she needed to learn how to move in it before we left.

“Uhh…” Serra shifted uneasily as Wieber got curious. Something about a surgeon.

“That’s classified,” I told the woman as I straightened out of the stretch and joined them beside the now empty rack. Wieber gave us a look but she’d get over it. If she didn’t know, she probably didn’t need to.

I could feel Serra staring at me now. “You’re gonna wear that?”

“What the hell else would I wear?” The dress was annoying enough without Serra making a fuss over it.

“I don’t know, maybe something less… Slutty.” As she looked me over again she finally made the connection. I don’t know how it took her so long to realize. “Wait a second. What’s your cover going to be at the gala?”

“I’m an escort named Vasilisa Dmitrievna Alkaeva. And, if all goes well, we’ll only have to meet up once during the gala. And yes, the neckline is that low.” I resisted the urge to strangle her. “Now stop staring.”

She looked away, muttering an apology. I took a deep breath. It was that low for a reason, I reminded myself. “Kinda hard not to though..”

“That’s the point. And I don’t appreciate the lack of control you’re exhibiting, Barton.” I tapped my heel on the ground, the repetitive clicking something to focus on that wasn’t my partner’s less than subtle looks.

Wieber watched our exchange with uncertainty but that was quickly remedied as she ordered us to take up positions. Finally something to do. I crossed towards the mat that’d been brought out for us to work with and I’d been right about the way the material flowed when I moved. It billowed dramatically with each step though someone had the forethought to make the cut so it kept fabric away from my feet. Maybe tripping over it won’t be so big a concern after all…

“Wait, you’re implying we’re going to be dancing with each other?” Serra was still frozen on the other side of the room.

Wieber gave her a stern look. “I’m not implying, I’m instructing you to. If you can dance with each other and not trip over your dresses, your own feet, or each other, then I know you’ll be ready when it comes to this. If all goes well, every dance lesson after this one will just be practice.”

Serra frowned, and I could sense her nerves rise at the thought. “Fuck,” she grumbled as she realized it was unavoidable.

 

* * *

 

“You know, you’d been doing pretty well in the earlier dance lessons, so what happened? Most girls would jump at the chance to dance in a fancy dress, but you, no, you fell at the chance.” I dodged the grape my partner flicked at me and took a bite of my pizza.

I’d never been so grateful for a training session to end before in my life- and I’d been in and out of trainings since I was six. The last few hours had been a mess. Dancing? Fine. Dancing in a ridiculous dress and heels? Fine. Dancing with Serra Barton in heels and a dress? Most certainly _not fine_. I’m pretty sure I’d have bruises on my feet for a day or two. Even Clint was better than her—not  that he was great at dancing either.

“Yeah, well, I’m not like most girls. And excuse me for tripping every few seconds, it's just that I’ve never worn heels for more than a few minutes, let alone danced in them.”

“What do you think the first half hour was? That should have been more than enough time to get used to walking in them before we started dancing. Gotta walk before you can run, or I guess dance.” I flicked a grape back at her, hitting her shoulder.

“I’m a slow learner when it comes to doing things with my body. I work better when the most moving I do is sitting back upright whenever I start to slide down my chair.” As if on cue, she sat up.

I sighed and took another bite as she sat up in her chair. “I know, and I know you’re not good in the field.”

“Remember Jerusalem?”

As if I could forget Jerusalem. “Yeah, I remember. I was gonna get to that. But the only way this can be pulled off is if you’re there in person. You can’t use the Guru on this one.”

She pushed her food around her plate as she thought. “Yeah, I know, I just… I wish your mom wasn’t busy in Russia.” That makes two of us. “Wait,” Serra was suddenly sitting up with a new idea. “So if she’s in Russia… Couldn’t she just go to the gala instead of us? I mean she’s probably pretty close to it, right?”

What the hell was she talking about? Aside from the fact sending an adult in would be more difficult—like Fury told us weeks ago—my mother was busy. The general-turned-weapons dealer thing she was on currently was too important for her to be pulled onto our mission. There were only so many opportunities to get him and she was in the perfect position to do it now.

“Serra, she’s undercover. She’s working. They can’t just pull her off that op for this one.” I took a bite of pizza to keep my tone from getting bitter. Not that I wanted to lose this mission, it was important, but this was the point in mission prep I’d normally be talking with her about it. She said she'd try and call but that can be hard to do without risking her cover. My mom was busy being an agent and just “Sure,it’d be easier, but it’s just not happening.”

Serra sighed, staring at her plate.

Wait, shouldn’t she be meeting Clint so she could be off to her appointment? “Hey, what time is it?”

She checked her phone. “Eh, 1:28. Why?”

I grinned just slightly. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

The look of terror that crossed my partner’s face made the hours of failed dancing worth it.

“Fuck!” she screamed as she hopped out of her chair and ran off. It’d only be a matter of moments till she collided with someone.

I grinned wider then. “Language!” Not that she’d understand that particular joke, seeing as she hadn’t met Captain Rogers yet, but that’s okay.

“Never thought I’d see the day our little Wild Card starts correcting someone’s language.”

I turned and looked up to see who’d spoken, but realized half way through the process I already knew. “Blake!”

The man smiled, and sat in the seat previously occupied by my partner. “Little Romanov. We’re missing you back at Ops, you know.”

Agent Matthew Blake had been near graduating when I’d been spending my first few years in Operations Academy. He was somewhat responsible for making me a sort of novelty at parties and been one of the first to refer to me as a wild card- something that’d stuck so well it’d become my official code name.

“Yeah, Uncle Director’s got us on a mission right now. We ship out in a week. Might be back after that though.” I finished off my pizza and helped myself to Serra’s left over noodles. It’s not like she’d miss it.

Blake nodded. “How’s prep goin’, then? They lettin' Barton in the field?”

I groaned as I thought back to training this morning. “There’s a reason she’s not a field agent. But this one requires her being on site. We had stuff all this morning. My toes are bruised.”

That certainly got his attention--I don’t exactly bruise easily, after all. “Well it could be worse. You didn’t get shot or anything this time.”

 _This_ time? He didn’t mean… “That was one time! I was seven, it’s not my fault they didn’t double check the course was clear!”

Blake shook his head, swallowing his mouthful of food. “There’s regulations about double checking courses are clear before drills because of you!” then as an after though he added: “Who lets a seven year old on a course with _live fire_ anyway?”

I didn’t remember that incident as well as everyone else seemed to. They’d sent me to academy for a little while both for training and as a way of having me supervised while Nat and Clint were away on a mission. I’d been playing in one of the course fields in my spare time and the agent in charge of the drills hadn’t seen me, as I’d apparently wandered out there _after_ they’d cleared the fields. Unfortunately it was one of the courses that dealt with live fire basically being rained down on the field. Aside from the panic, I was fine.

Luckily my mother was already on her way back to collect me and arrived about the same time medical was done putting me back together. Just some bullet wounds, nothing too life threatening, but I was young and small enough that pain killers were still an option. So, after giving the agents in charge a rather stern talking to that I’m sure they remember to this day, she was let in to see me. Her doped up seven year old giggling at everything anyone said, crying for a lost toy. She kept trying to tell me things- things I don’t even remember- only to have me interrupt with: “Don’t worry, Mommy. I love you and would never kill _you_.”

To this day they have never let me live it down.

Blake interrupted my hazy memories with more questions about my impeding mission. “How’d Barton bruise your toes?”

I made a face in response. “Dancing.”

“But you’re a great dancer, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “I’ve had a lot of practice. The dress and heels are new to her though, and, well, you know Barton...” He smirked. He’d met Serra a few times though he was far more familiar with the older Barton. “Hawkeye came to watch for a while, but Wieber kicked him out because he was laughing too much.” I’d have to get him back for that when we got back…

Blake’s eyebrow raised in question, but he didn’t say anything. The older Barton hovering me and Serra wasn’t exactly surprising. He was more curious about the dark look I was now giving my empty plate.

I sighed. “She tripped. Over the hem of her dress. And then when she tried to catch herself she slipped on her heels. She’s taller so when she went down, she took me with her… and she just _stayed_ there. There’s no way she didn’t realize her fucking face was just _in_ my chest. Not in that dress. I swear she did it on purpose!” I slumped forwards, head hitting the table. “Hawkeye laughed so hard Wieber was afraid I’d kill them both if-“

My little rant was interrupted by Blake’s laughter. “Oh come on, Romanov, are you saying you wouldn’t?” I glared at him and he got the message quickly. “Alright, so yeah Barton can be a bit obvious about it. But you certainly do take after your mother.”

I sighed. He wasn’t wrong. And at least Serra apologized. She’d make all the accidental—and _accidental_ —touching up to me eventually. The sooner Red Moon was over and done with, the sooner things could go back to normal.

 

* * *

 

“Focus, Romanov,” the agent’s voice reminded me over coms. “You can’t afford to mess up here. There’s just a few hours left.”

Three, to be exact. i’d be shipped out in three hours- without Serra - and dropped in the middle of Moscow to get my cover perfected.

I adjusted a stray strand of black hair that’d fallen into my face. I stayed silent—there wasn’t a way to answer without arousing suspicions. They’d chosen a corporate auction as my last test, though it seemed easier than the last one where I’d been dropped into a room full of agents and told to get some poor level five’s access code. At least with the agents people had noticed me, here I seemed invisible. The black wig was just past my shoulders, the clingy navy blue cocktail dress I’d been shoved into—plain in style and color—compared to most in the room, and I wasn’t covered in expensive jewelry—just a simple sapphire pendant. I probably looked like a kid in over their head to most of them. Which wasn’t totally wrong, but not accurate either.

I took a glass of champagne as a waiter passed, and I sipped thoughtfully as I wove through people. I ended up between the VP of sales and the head of the research department. There’d be no room for mistakes here. I just listened, nodding and making the appropriate sounds of response. It was only a few minutes later that the VP left us to talk with their secretary though it was pretty clear there wouldn’t be a lot of _talking_ between the two.

“So, what department are you with, Miss Collins?” Dr. Steven Vaughn seemed genuinely curious about me, which was a good sign as long as it stayed friendly rather than suspicious.

“Legal, actually.” I smiled warmly and when he returned it I took a sip. He mirrored the action, and I kept my satisfaction off my face. Neuro-linguistic programming was useful when it went undetected. Eventually some people would catch on if they were observant enough, but with what I’d been told about Vaugh I deemed it unlikely he would. Reiterating a motion in response to a predetermined action would force association between the two. In this case, he would link me with the bubbling taste of the drink and the warm sensation of a genuine smile. Simple tricks for simple minds. “I started a few months ago.” According to electronic records, anyway.

Vaughn nodded, and we went through the usual round of coworker questions; how do you like it, what’s the biggest challenge, anything big coming up. It was a lot of smiling and laughing on made up information and guess work which—if this was a real mission **\--** would be far too risky to normally get by with.

“What’s your wife do?” I asked innocently, batting my eyelashes up at him. He glanced at the ring on his finger, smiling widely.

“Oh, my fiancée. She’s a teacher over at an elementary school in Maryland.” He looked somewhere between smitten and embarrassed and I thought he was pathetic. Yeah, Clint was married but something about spending the rest of your life with just one person seemed… unnatural to me.

I smiled as if the idea of romance was something i craved in life. “She sounds wonderful, Dr. Vaughn.”

He laughed. “Oh, no, please. Just call me Steven.”

It was robotic by now. Holding pointless conversations with meaningless marks so that I could worm my way into their minds—and theoretically their beds. I largely tuned Vaughn out, providing responses when necessary, a light brush against his arm here, a giggle and sip of champagne there. I was bored I realized. I’d never been bored on a mission before, it was almost funny. Almost. I couldn’t afford to mess this up because I was looking ahead to the end game.

I was so ready for Russia I could almost taste it. I’d been before, back when I was little. They’d found me there, actually, when I was about four. Picked me up there and after a brief stop in Budapest they brought me into SHIELD. Details are still kind of fuzzy on that one still, but I hadn’t been back since.

A voice over the speakers said the auction was about to begin, and ever the gentleman Vaughn extended his arm and we made our way over. We sat in a middle row, surrounded by people. No easy way out if it went wrong. The auctioneer was talking now. I took a deep breath, glancing around with what most would think eager anticipation. In reality I was double checking my possible escape routes. How the fuck does Nat do this without extraction? I guess I’d be learning that once Russia was over. There were eight lots until what I was after came up. I actually _did_ want it, though I don’t think that’s going to be a possibility. Selina Collins didn’t actually exist in a big enough capacity to get ahold of the music box.

The bidding time for other lots was filled with feigning interest in the works of art and it wasn’t that difficult. I’d never had a lot of time for arts and crafts growing up. Laura had tried a couple of times to get me interested but I’d generally opted for target practice on the far side of the property--away from the tiny, curious children that could potentially get hit. I’d never been sent as a proper traditional thief but if I had an “if I could be anything” wish, it’d be that. Art was interesting, if only in the psychology of why it fascinated people.

“And next we have lot 356, an early 19th century Russian music box recovered from…”

I perked up immediately, a hand flying ‘reflexively’ to rest lightly on Vaughn’s knee. He looked at me with surprise but didn’t protest. “My grandfather had one when I was very little. When the house burned down…” My smile faltered and Vaughn nodded sympathetically.

“…the bidding at three thousand, yes thank you sir. Do I hear 3050-..”

I kept my gaze on the box, putting slight pressure on Vaughn’s knee each time the bids increased. If I’d done my job right then he would-

“10,000,” The man declared and I nearly choked. I just gaped stupidly at him. Apparently I’d done a little too well…

I wasn’t faking surprise. “Steven what are you doing?!”

He smiled at me, nodding to the auctioneer as he declared the box sold. “It’s nothing, Selina, really.”

I wanted to smack him for his stupidity, but that is so not how to handle the situation. “I… I don’t know what to say… I just- Thank you.” My voice was sweet and melodic and I tried to ignore the agent in my ear telling me to make an exit as soon as there was an opportunity.

I dutifully waited by Steven Vaughn’s side until there was a recess in the proceedings. I smiled at him, feeling sorry for him but not guilty. This was my job and it was time to complete it. “Really, Steven, thank you again. I don’t know how to repay you…”

His eyes flicked over my body but he maintained a light air. “Selina, it’s really no worry.” He took a step closer and I bat my eyelashes at him for what would be hopefully the last time. I waited a beat before sliding a hand to his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. It was nothing special, a sweet thank you with the possible promise of a _thank you_. I released him, he turned at the sound of someone calling his name, and I was gone.

 

* * *

 

“No, I got everything. It wasn’t that-“

_“How’d the training go this morning? It was with Serra, wasn’t it?”_

I refused to sigh and let my mother know I’d attempted to skip afternoon training. How come she was half way across the world and still knew everything I’ve been up to? “Let’s just say it’s good she’ll have the extra week to work on the heels and dress.”

Nat gave a soft chuckle, no doubt well aware of how the session likely went. _“You worried about the op?”_

I watched the coms agents load equipment onto the jet. Sneaking phone calls to an agent in the field is risky even for Fury’s favorites, regardless of parental duties. “No more than usual. Agent Thomas seems competent enough and its only a couple of days until May and Serra will arrive.”

 _“Lera, that isn’t what I meant.”_ Oh no, she only used that tone when she knew I was hiding things. I was just going to a party as a whore, not off to the middle of nowhere to hunt down another dangerous person on SHIELD’s never ending lists.

I nudged the bag I’d packed with my boot. “Mom, no it's fine. I’ve been briefed, and five weeks of training is more than enough to seduce a man as a distraction.”

 _“Especially for a Romanov.”_ I could hear the smile in her voice. She may have begged Agent May back into being our supervising officer on this- only the best to watch over Serra and I- but I'd earned my clearance level the hard way. A decade of SHIELD training by the Black Widow tends to make for a good agent.

“Agent Romanov, we’re nearly-“ I glared at the ginger communications agent and he snapped his mouth closed. Still glaring at him, I pointed to my phone then at the jet. He scurried off.

“Guess we’re taking off soon. After we land I have a meeting with Markov and just a few days of integrating myself with the other girls and probably a couple of small jobs. Serra lands- Now?”

My partner had finally returned as evidenced by the plane landing across the hanger. It’d only be a matter of moments before she came running off and crashed into someone or something--my money was on the woman carrying charts across the floor no doubt headed for a briefing.

 _“Clint got her back in one piece then, I take it.”_ Even though she couldn’t see me, I nodded. _“It’s good he could get the time to be there with her.”_

“He’s her legal guardian, he had to go or she couldn’t. But the mission still comes first. It always will.”

 _"People lose a lot of important moments that way."_ Her tone implied some familiarity with that sacrifice. I sighed.

“Always will what?” Serra marked her appearance by asking a nosy question and resting her arm on my head. So I responded the way any normal person would:

I elbowed her squarely in the ribs.

She immediately withdrew her arm, using it to rub her side. “Ow! That’s not really the best welcome back, you know. Honestly, didn’t your mother ever teach you manners, Valeriya?”

I pushed her away a bit and pointed to my phone. Unfortunately she didn’t take the hint. “I have to go soon so I should probably-“

_“Lera, Lisichka, I want you to remember that there **is** an extraction team. Fury allowed one because-“_

Serra made another grab for my phone. “Wait who are you talking to?”

I elbowed her again but to no avail. _“Lera? Are you-“_

“Oops…” My partner stared at the phone she’d accidentally forced from my hand, ending the call. That was likely the only chance i'd have at talking with my mom until after this mission is over and done with. As much as I wanted to inform my over enthusiastic partner that I now wanted to introduce her face to my boot, it wouldn't fix anything. i just glared at her. “Uh, can’t you just call back?”

“She called me. So… no.” I picked up my bag, tossing it over my shoulder as Agent Thomas waved for my attention. “And now I have to go.”

Serra looked from me to the plane. “Wait, you're leaving now?” Why didn’t she ever bother looking into my schedule instead of my past? I just raised an eyebrow in response and started towards the jet. She followed. “Why aren’t we going at the same time?”

“Because I have to meet with Markov and integrate myself with the other girls. Probably have some jobs to do before he signs me on.” I stopped at the bottom of the ramp. “And you have dancing to work on anyway.”

“Jobs? Like whore work?” I rolled my eyes and started up the ramp at Thomas’s insistence we leave now or risk Fury’s wrath. “So Natasha is just gonna let them use you as a whore? And this young, too?”

What kind of stupid question was that? Of course she wouldn't let them do that. “SHIELD has plans, don’t worry about me. Focus on your own issues. Like the dancing.” She opened her mouth to reply but just shut it again and glared. “Have fun.”


	2. POV - Serra

“Being a field agent is _hard_ ,” I whined to Valeriya, from where I sat across from her at a table in the main cafeteria. Every part of my body hurt—I’d just finished with my self defense class—and it was only one in the afternoon. “Why do I have to be on location doing all this secret spy stuff?”

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since Director Fury himself had given us this mission. And in that time, I was supposed to have learned how to lie convincingly about my past, how to waltz, how to walk in high heels, how to dance in high heels, how to defend myself if the situation called for it, and even how to act like a proper diplomat’s daughter.

Well, I was supposed to, anyways.

Every time I tried to dance, even while wearing flats (or no shoes at all), I would come very close to somehow rolling one or both of my ankles, and I’d already stepped on my dance partner's toes an innumerable amount of times. Adding heels into that already complex sequence made it worse; I actually succeeded in rolling my right ankle the first time they had me dancing in heels, and for the next few days my lessons were just etiquette and subterfuge.

Self defense wasn’t much better. Just because my uncle and cousin were both top agents in S.H.I.E.L.D., and that my great-grandmother was one of the founders, didn't really mean that combat skills ran in the family; if anything, the need to watch everything from far away did, though I took that step a bit further by watching through cameras. Let’s just say that I ended up on my ass quite often, which would then be followed by another round of scolding form my instructor about how lazy I was. Or something to that effect, anyways.

“Because we’re the only agents who could actually get in to without raising suspicion, and you need to be on site to get the files,” my partner replied coolly, not even bothering to raise her head from the alarmingly large tray of food before her. She explained that to me once—why she needed to eat so much, so often. Something about a really fast metabolism because of the serum in her that she’d gotten from her parent(s?).

“Uuuuuuugghhh,” I groaned, slowly laying my head down on the table, face turned to the side. My body was crying out to be fed—learning self-defense will do that to a person—but I couldn't summon the energy to eat anything from the tray of food in front of me. Unlike my partner, who was casually munching on her third grilled cheese sandwich. Or fourth. I lost count. Actually, for all I knew, it could be her tenth. She was a bottomless pit, I swear.

“It could be a lot better,” she commented, a few crumbs spraying from her mouth and landing on my now-blonde hair.

I sat up slowly and shook them out. “You mean, if we weren’t the ones going on this mission?”

She finished chewing and swallowed. “No. I mean that we could have not even a full day to prepare for it. Remember Cairo? Yeah. So, I’m glad that we get this time. And when you think about it, five weeks is a long time.”

“I hate it when you're right.”

“So,” she smirked, “do you always hate me then?”

“Fuck off Romanov,” I muttered, dropping my head to the table again. Lunch could come later.

 

* * *

 

“For god’s sake, Barton, that's the tenth time this minute that you've checked the schedule. Yes, we have this lesson together, in the same room, probably with the same instructor. And yes, we’re learning some dance steps. Or something.”

I shoved my phone back into my jacket pocket. “I know, I know, it’s just...difficult to wrap my head around. We haven’t done _anything_ together since the briefing, except for leisure activities.”

“When we had the time for them.”

“Yeah.”

Normally, Valeriya was the more fidgety of the two of us, never able to sit still. Like, ever. Now, though, she seemed perfectly at ease, leaning up against the wall of the hallway we were waiting in, while I was the one pacing back and forth. We were both early today—I think we were both anxious about this class for some reason—so the room was currently locked. Well, not really. For the two of us, no room was ever locked for long. But we were following orders; the instructions said, in no uncertain terms, to wait outside until our instructor let us in.

“You sure you haven’t had any coffee this morning?” I turned to see her staring at me, or at my general fidgetiness.

“If I had, I’d be calmer.”

This was the first lesson of the day for both of us, and I still had crumbs on my shirt from the piece of toast I ate on my way here. I hastily brushed them off, and just in time; our instructor, Agent Wieber, was walking towards us, her short heels—most likely dance shoes, given what the schedule said we were doing—clicking on the metal floors and echoing off the walls.

“Good morning, ladies,” she said in a high, silvery voice as she approached us. “I hope you both slept well.”

Neither of us replied—if I had had my usual morning dose of caffeine, I would have—as she pressed her thumb to the scanner by the door, which blinked green and unlocked. She went through first, and my partner and I fell into step behind her.

The room we entered was remarkably unremarkable; plain walls, a long, metal bench against the wall to the right, and lights imbedded in the ceiling illuminating the room. In the center of the room was a dark mat, about 40 meters square, where I assumed we would be learning to dance.

What stood out the most, though, was the small, wheeled clothing rack with two dresses hanging from it. One green, Grecian style dress, with golden threading at the neckline and high on the waist, and the other was a silky, lilac colored thing with a strapless corset top, hints of white lace lining the bust, and a flowing fabric skirt. I really hoped I wouldn't be wearing that one, my shoulders were just too wide for strapless dresses.

“I take it these will be our dresses for the mission,” Valeriya noted, her gaze apparently focused on them as well.

“Correct. And it's about time you learn to dance in them,” she said, pointedly staring at me as she did.

“Okay, _just because_ I couldn’t—”

“Save your breath, Barton. You’ll need it.”

I huffed, blowing a strand of blonde hair out of my face. If there’s one thing I hated more than the fact that my hair had to be a certain color for this mission and I couldn’t change it until afterwards, it was dancing. Though, I had to give my instructors credit; I was in better shape now than I was four weeks ago, though that isn't really saying much, considering how little I physically did for any mission. Most of the moving I did was getting to and from where I would set up shop to hack into a place.

Anyways. Dancing wasn't really my thing. Factor in some heels, and even after three, four weeks of practice, I was still unsteady on my feet. And that was mostly in pants. Factor in a fancy green dress, and who knows what could happen.

 

* * *

 

“How the fuck— how do I— someone help me out?”

I was stuck. I don’t know how it happened, but one minute I was pulling on my dress, and the next I couldn’t move my arms, and my head was at a very awkward angle. I think it was through one of the arm holes?

Of course, everyone thought this was funny. I couldn't see Valeriya, but I could definitely hear her snort of laughter at my unfortunate predicament. Agent Wieber, too, thought it was funny, but she tried her best to hide it as she came over to help me untangle myself.

“See, this is what happens when I try to girl,” I commented dryly as she gently started to pull the fabric back over my head.

You see, I wasn’t exactly the feminine type. I mean, I was, just not in the way other girls are. Meaning that I wasn’t really born a girl. It was only when I joined SHIELD—a little beforehand, actually, but it doesn’t matter—that I finally came out, more to myself than anyone. When I told my new aunt and uncle, they took it in stride, and by the time I started going on missions, I was presenting full time as female.

I could apply makeup almost as good—if not better—than my partner. I could do my hair fairly easily now, too. And I passed pretty well, too; I had trained my voice, and I had a pretty feminine figure—thanks to hormone therapy. But sometimes I ran into little things that I didn't really know how to handle.

Putting on a fancy party dress and fancy heels was one of those things.

It took about a minute for Wieber to untangle me, all the while muttering things like “how in the hell you managed to get yourself stuck I will never know.” When I was finally free and properly wearing the dress, I noticed the empty cavity of the bust area.

“Um, does whoever made this realize I’m like, a B cup?”

“We can tailor it tonight. You could do it yourself, if you wanted.”

I shrugged. “Much as I'd love to, I have to meet with my surgeon.”

Wieber looked genuinely concerned. “Surgeon? For what?”

“Uhh....” I didn't really have a good answer for her. Was she in the loop about me being trans?

Thankfully, Valeriya came to my rescue with her age-old response to nosy questions. “That's classified.”

Agent Wieber gave the two of us a weird look—the kind that says “I know you're hiding something but it’s probably personal so I’ll drop it”—and took a few steps back to watch the both of us. Now that I was free, I took a moment to see how my partner looked in her dress—and did a double take.

“You're gonna wear _that_?”

“What the hell else would I wear?”

“I don’t know, maybe something less...” I looked her up and down. “Slutty.” Then it dawned on me. “....Wait a second. What's your cover going to be at the gala?”

I already suspected what the answer would be, but she confirmed it out loud. “I’m an escort named Vasilisa Dmitrievna Alkaeva. And, if all goes well, we’ll only have to meet up once in the gala. And yes, the neckline is that low. Now stop staring.”

“Sorry,” I muttered and averted my gaze quickly. Though, to be fair, she looked _amazing_ in that dress, which did an excellent job of showing off her smooth legs, shapely hips, narrow waist, and...ample bust, further shown off by the extremely low and rather tight corset or her dress. “Kinda hard not to though.”

“That's the point. And I don't appreciate the lack of control you're exhibiting, Barton.”

Resorting to last names was generally reserved for when one of us fucked up, though I couldn’t understand what I’d done besides stare for a few seconds. Regardless, I needed to do something to make up for it, though right now probably wasn’t the best time.

Especially since Agent Wieber was instructing us to assume dancing positions. Which was weird, I noted as I looked around, because we were the only three people in this room. Unless... Oh. _Oh_. Oh no.

“Wait, you're implying we're going to be dancing with each other?” I asked, incredulous.

“I’m not _implying_ , I’m instructing you to,” she fired back. “If you can dance with each other and not trip over your dresses, your own feet, or each other, then I know you’ll be ready when it comes to this. If all goes well, every dance lesson after this one will just be practice.”

“Fuck.”

 

* * *

 

What followed for the next few hours was probably the worst excuse for dancing anyone had ever seen, as well as a great deal of stepping-on-toes (of which I was always at fault). My uncle even dropped in for a few minutes to watch, and left the room clutching his sides from laughing at the absurd number of times that I fell over. In my defense, I have never worn heels, ever (okay, maybe once or twice, but they were Laura's), let alone _danced_ in them while wearing a dress that kept getting snagged on said heels. Valeriya has been making sure I’ll never live it down.

“You know, you’d been doing pretty well in the earlier dance lessons, so what happened? Most girls would jump at the chance to dance in a fancy dress, but you, no, you fell at the chance.”

I flicked a grape at her from across the table. “Yeah, well, I’m not like most girls. And excuse me for tripping every few seconds, it's just that I’ve never worn heels for more than a few minutes, let alone danced in them.”

“What do you think the first half hour was? That should have been more than enough time to get used to walking in them before we started dancing. Gotta walk before you can run, or I guess dance.” She flicked a grape at me.

“I’m a slow learner when it comes to doing things with my body. I work better when the most moving I do is sitting back upright whenever I start to slide down my chair.” I sat back up in the chair I was sitting in to prove my point.

Valeriya sighed and took a bite of her pizza. “I know,” she said after swallowing, “and I know you're not good in the field.”

“Remember Jerusalem?”

“Yeah, I remember. I was gonna get to that.” She sighed again. “But the only way this can be pulled off is if you're there in person. You can’t use the Guru on this one.”

I picked at my noodles. “Yeah, I know, I just... I wish your mom wasn't busy in Russia.” I played with the noodles for another few seconds, when an idea hit me. “Wait. So, if she’s in Russia... Couldn't she just go to the gala instead of us? I mean, she’s probably pretty close to it, right?”

My partner looked at me like I’d just said that fish could fly. “Serra... She’s undercover. She’s working. They can’t just pull her off that op for this one.” She took another bite of her pizza. “Sure, it'd be easier, but it's just not happening.”

I sighed and looked down at my food, no longer hungry. A minute or so passed, nothing but the sounds of lunch echoing around the cafeteria filling the silence between us, when Valeriya spoke up. “Hey, what time is it?”

I checked my phone. “Uh, 1:28. Why?”

“Don't you have somewhere to be?”

“FUCK.” I knocked over my chair in my hurry to get up, but I didn’t have time to put it back up.

“Language!” Romanov called after me as I ran through the cafeteria in the direction of the main hangar, stumbling over chairs and dodging around agents carrying trays of food as I did.

And thus began another of my sprints through the Hub.

Luckily for me, the cafeteria was relatively close to the hangar, as opposed to my room, so it wasn't a very long sprint, but it was still a sprint nonetheless. And sprinting, while something that most super-soldiers are supposed to be pretty good at, was not really my forte. No, unlike the others, my thing was almost exclusively mental. Sure, I was definitely stronger than the average person, but even at my peak, I’m no stronger than Natasha, and certainly nowhere near as strong as her daughter.

That said, I could go pretty fast if I wanted to. I couldn't do it for long, but that’s why it’s called sprinting, not jogging. And at that moment, I was sprinting around a corner that was far to tight to take at my current speed. But did I slow down? Did I jump and bounce off of the wall? Did I so much as do anything to either correct my path or use it to my advantage?

No. I ran into the fucking wall.

And I’m supposed to be the smart one.

The wall didn't stop me, just slowed me down for a moment or two and left my shoulder with a pretty nasty bruise (also, I think I left a fair sized dent in the wall). Anyways, I kept going once I rounded the corner, making my way down familiar passageways filled with mostly unfamiliar faces. I did recognize a few people I’d chatted with or worked with before as I dodged around anyone in my way, but you don't really have time to say “hi” when you're in a hurry. No, I had to be somewhere, and I had to be there—I glanced at a clock on a nearby wall as I sprinted by—literally right now. But I was close. A few more turns and a flight of stairs, and I’d be there, so long as nothing—

“Oof!”

You know, with the benefit of hindsight, maybe running through the halls of the Hub at over 15 miles per hour wasn't such a good idea, as it could make collisions pretty nasty. Such as the one I just caused by running into another agent, which sent both of us flying several feet down the corridor.

As soon as I stopped moving forward, I was getting back to my feet and apologizing to the poor agent I’d knocked over. “Oh god, oh fuck I’m, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you th— _Agent Sitwell?_ Oh god, ohhh god, I am so, so sorry.”

Sitwell elicited a groan as I helped him to stand. “Barton?” He shook his head, probably dazed. Oh fuck, he might have a concussion. “Why...why were you running?” Also, where were his glasses?

I stooped to pick up the briefcase he’d dropped, as well as the multitude of pages that had flown out when it had opened—which was very shortly followed by the sound of glass breaking beneath my foot. _Found the glasses..._ “Y-you know me, sir, always in a hurry...” I finished gathering up the papers and stuffed them haphazardly back into their case, then picked up the remnants of his glasses, handing them all quickly to Sitwell. “Sir, I’m really sorry about the, you know, running you over thing, and about your glasses. I’m just...yeah, I don’t really have an excuse...”

Considering what had just happened to him, Agent Sitwell took it all rather calmly. He merely closed his eyes for a moment (probably counting to ten), took a deep breath, and said, “Just, please, take more care from now on. We don’t need you putting anyone in medical. That's Romanov’s job.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” I turned and was about to run, no, _jog_ away, but Sitwell’s voice stopped me.

“Barton, If I may... Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

I considered briefly how to answer. I wasn't going to lie to him, but he didn't need to know everything. “Meeting up with my uncle. He’s taking me off-base for a little bit.”

He squinted at me, suspicious—or maybe just because he couldn't see that well without his glasses. “What for?”

“Family matter.”

“Ah. Well, I hope it resolves itself.”

And with that, we parted ways, though in a less friendly and dramatic sense that involved me resuming my run—correction, _jog_ towards the hangar, and Agent Sitwell heading the other way, probably to see someone about his glasses.

I pulled out my phone to check the time as I jogged. 1:32. _Well, I’m already late, I told myself. What’s a few more minutes for taking it a bit slower?_ With that, and Sitwell’s words, in mind, I kept up a steady jog through the twists and turns of the Hub on my way to the main hangar. I still earned a number of questioning stares, but seeing someone jogging through the Hub was a lot more common than someone sprinting by at near-inhuman speeds. I did still have to dodge around a few people and carts, but for the most part, the rest of my trip to the hangar was uneventful.

Until I arrived, that is.

“You know, when someone says, ‘meet at the hangar at 1:25, we leave at 1:30,’ they usually expect you to be there on time,” my uncle admonished from where he stood on the ramp of the quinjet we’d be taking.

“Sorry, I ran into Sitwell on the way over,” I explained as I closed the distance to the aircraft.

“Oh, I see. Have a nice chat with him, did you?” The sarcasm dripping from his voice was as lethal as his arrows.

“Let me rephrase,” I said as I walked up the ramp and into the jet. “I ran _over_ Agent Sitwell.”

“What have you been told about running through HQ?”

“Romanov does it too!”

“Romanov generally doesn't run over people,” he replied as he made his way to the cockpit. “And she can control her speed and is constantly aware of her surroundings.”

I took a seat on one of the benches lining the sides of the interior and began to get buckled up. “I was in a hurry, okay? You know how much this means to me.”

“I do.” He sighed, a long, weary sigh. “Although I’m still not so sure that you should be going through with this until you're 18.”

I watched as he flipped several overhead switches in the cockpit. “We've already checked with Dr. Krante and several others, and they all say that it's possible to have it done at 16. And, you know, having faster healing than normal people certainly helps.”

That got a chuckle out of him. “Yeah, I know.” He flipped a few more switches. “You all set back there?”

I double checked the straps keeping me in my seat. “All clear!”

He didn't respond, instead pushing a button on the console in front of him. “This is Agent Barton, preparing for take off, over.”

A tinny voice sounded from the cockpit speakers a few seconds later. “Copy, Agent Barton. Your departure is still all clear. Have a safe flight, over.”

Clint hit a few more switches, and the almost familiar whine of the rotors beginning to spin filled the air, even through the mostly-soundproof walls of the quinjet. It took several seconds, but soon enough they were at full power, and we were shortly in the air, leaving the Hub's main hangar. I watched out the cockpit windows as the sides of the hangar fell away, then opened up into the sprawling above-ground section of the compound. As my uncle hit the throttle, my limited view of the Hub gave way to dense forest, then soon after was replaced by bright blue sky as we flew further upwards, slight G-forces pulling me towards the rear of the plane.

We levelled out soon enough, and I leaned my head back against the headrest. Not altogether the most comfortable way to travel, but it was okay. _I bet I could easily book a seat on a passenger jet for free if I tried_ , I thought to myself as I closed my eyes. The flight was gonna be about two hours or so one way, so I had plenty of time to catch up on the sleep that I’d been missing out on for the past several weeks. Of course, only the most tired of agents could ever catch any shut-eye on a moving quinjet. Not the smoothest of rides.

 

* * *

 

“Are we not going to talk about the fact that you scheduled your surgery for two weeks after your 16th birthday?”

“What? I didn’t want to wait any longer than I had to, and he had an opening...”

“Yeah I know, it’s just...” Clint sighed and shook his head. “That’s only four months away. Not much time to prepare.”

“What’s to prepare? All he had to do was take some stem cell tissue samples, and I've been ready since I came out to you and Laura!” I crossed my arms over the straps and snorted. “I’m just glad he had an opening this soon, and that I don’t have to wait a year or two...”

“I’m glad too. And I’m also glad that S.H.I.E.L.D. has been kind enough to foot the bill, because unfortunately, no insurance company will cover it...” He sighed again.

Relative silence filled the cabin, words being replaced by the dull roar of the turbines. It had been a long day for both of us, particularly my uncle. He had to fly to the Hub from somewhere in Arizona, I think—something very hush-hush and Clearance Level 7—and then nearly four more hours flying the jet, plus an hour for the appointment (most of which was spent waiting to getting the necessary tissues for the pre-operation growing of the necessary organs). Then, on top of all that, he’d have to fly back to whatever secret base he’d been working at for the past month. Sure, Clint could go for hours on end just flying, but for some reason, he couldn’t today. Good thing we were almost back at the Hub.

I craned my neck to try and look out the windshield as I felt and heard the telltale signs of switching from flight mode to VTOL mode, the dull scream of the turbines being replaced by the roar of the rotors. It was nearly nightfall, the sun setting off to the left side of the plane, painting pastel oranges and yellows and pinks on the few clouds above us. Looking further down, I could see the upper section of the Hub rapidly approaching, illuminated by exterior lights that were a cross of streetlights and floodlights, as well as interior lighting spilling out through open windows and doorways.

Then the giant opening that was the main hangar was visible, and we slowed down even more, Clint confirming with air control that he was all clear to land, and before I knew it we were descending down into the massive opening that was the main hangar. There wasn’t much to see besides gray walls and a few anti-aircraft guns, but then we were passing yellow railings and swaying as my uncle levelled us out for touchdown, and then, with a final bump, we were on the ground. I unstrapped myself from my seat while Clint turned off the engines, then, when I could no longer hear the whine of the rotors through the plane, I hit the switch to open the cargo door. After waiting a few seconds for it to fully open, I walked out onto the tarmac and almost immediately spotted a patch of bright red hair about 70 meters away that could only belong to my partner.

With a grin, I took off towards her at a near-sprint, at least by my standards. Another perk of being a hybrid super soldier was that I could cover ground fast when I wanted to, and right now I just really wanted to see Valeriya and tell her the good news. As I neared her, though, it looked like I’d have to wait, as she was talking to someone on a phone. Probably her mom, but you never knew with Romanovs.

I skidded to a stop a few meters from her in time to hear her finish a train of thought with, “it always will.” Naturally, I was curious.

“Always will what?” I asked. And earned a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Ow! Not really the best welcome back, you know.” I rubbed my side, trying to ignore the pain. Yup, there’d be a bruise there soon. Maybe a bruised rib, with the strength she hit me with. “Honestly, didn’t your mother ever teach you manners, Valeriya?”

Obviously not, as she pushed me away with her free hand, then pointed it at the phone. _Oh come on, whoever you’re talking to can wait. This is big news!_ Near bursting with the need to tell her, I made a grab for her phone, hoping to get her off it long enough to tell her.

“Wait who are you talking to?” I asked. Too late did I notice the evil glare she gave me, and it only registered that Natasha was on the other line when I felt another sharp jab to my already abused ribs, though this one was noticably weaker. Still hurt like a bitch though.

But my hand was already on the phone, and in doubling over in pain I had now yanked it out of Valeriya’s hand. And, I noticed upon looking at the screen, ended the call. “Oops...” I looked from the phone screen to my partner, and was greeted by possibly the most lethal glare she’d ever given me. The kind that says ‘I am going to fucking kill you and I’m going to enjoy it.’ “Uh, can’t you just call back?”

“She called me. So… no.” Her glare turned into a frown, more sad than angry. After a moment of sulking, she picked her bag up and tossed it over her shoulder, looking past me at someone or something. “And now I have to go.”

I turned to look at what had her attention and saw Agent Thomas standing at the base of a quinjet, tapping his wristwatch and mouthing, ‘We need to go now.’

“Wait, you're leaving _now_?”

My partner raised an eyebrow, then started walking towards the jet. I followed, still a little lost. “Why aren’t we going at the same time?”

“Because I have to meet with Markov and integrate myself with the other girls,” she responded over her shoulder. “Probably have some jobs to do before he signs me on.” She stopped at the bottom of the jet’s ramp, then, as if an afterthought, added, “And you have dancing to work on anyways.”

 _Wait wait wait, back up a bit_. “Jobs? Like whore work?”

“Now, Romanov! I’d very much like to not be on Fury’s naughty list!” Thomas called from inside the jet.

Valeriya huffed and started up the ramp, responding to neither of us, but I wasn’t finished. “So Natasha is just gonna let them use you as a whore? And this young, too?”

That made her stop and turn around. “SHIELD has plans, don’t worry about me. Focus on your own issues. Like the dancing.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but thought better of it. Nothing to do but glare at her now.

Agent Romanov stuck her tongue out at me, then smiled and said, “Have fun. See you in a week.”

“See you in a week...” I mumbled as the ramp closed, marking the start of the 8 days that I’d be in the Hub without my partner. I walked back several paces as the engines warmed up, then watched as the rotors started up and, once at speed, lifted the jet off the ground and started it’s journey up and out.

Footsteps approached me from behind as I watched the jet fly out the top of the hangar. “I take it Lera just left?”

I didn’t need to look to know it was my uncle. “Valeriya? Yeah.”

Clint clicked his tongue. “Damn. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“I’m sure she would have if she’d had the time.” I thought about telling him about why exactly she had to leave now, but decided against it. Clint didn’t need to worry any more than he already would be, what with me being out in the field on a mission with minimal backup. Especially after what happened in Jerusalem, if he even heard about it.

We stood there like that, staring up at the sky for a what must have been a minute or two. Eventually, Clint spoke up again.

“So. Ready to be on your own here for a week? Think you can handle not having Level 7 clearance for that long?”

“Ha! Fuck no.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please let us know what you think in the comments! What did you like or not like? What do you think could be improved upon? We realllllly appreciate reader feedback to let us know how we're doing!


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